


You Do

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Incest, M/M, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:07:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don’t think of your brother that way. (Pre-series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HalfshellVenus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfshellVenus/gifts).



> Prompt by Halfshellvenus: Michael/Lincoln, secret longing.  
> I know second person voice is not everyone’s cup of tea, but the first sentences came up with that point of view, and I couldn’t get rid of it. Sorry if sorry applies ;)

You don’t think of your brother that way. You don’t consider him that way. He’s your brother. You don’t dream of him and wake up huddled up, beads of sweat surging between your shoulder blades and fingers clutching the sheets to prevent your hand from sliding down your stomach and into your pajamas. You don’t daydream about lying on your back and welcoming him on top of you, you don’t wish you could run your lips and tongue down his neck, and you don’t imagine what his kisses would taste like. You don’t want him to be _everything_ and a bit more to you – he is already, though, in way too many senses.

You don’t long for it to be reciprocal; you don’t think that if you prayed, you would pray it was reciprocal. You don’t love your brother that way.

No one does.

You look at Lincoln sprawled out in his battered jeans and tee-shirt on your squeaky-new leather couch, half stoned or half drunk or maybe both, and you hold onto the back of the stupid designer chair you bought last week. Stomach knotted and vision blurred, throat tight and mouth watering, heart beating wildly, wildly, wildly; always wildly for Linc. You hear his words but you don’t understand them; your brain is on overload and whatever he’s saying doesn’t sink in.

He gives you a lazy grin and motions you to come closer. Valiantly, you try to say “No, I have something to do in the kitchen, I’ll be right back,” you shake your head and step back, and yet you move forward, toward him all the same. You follow the index finger he waves at you like a beacon and you sit on the coffee table. Moth to the flame. You always end up burnt in more than one acceptation, and you never mind it nearly as much as you should.

He doesn’t know; he can’t know. Wait. Maybe he knows but consciously or not pretends he doesn’t since you don’t love your brother that way.

No one does.

No one wants their sibling to hold, touch, kiss, love, _love_ them. No one craves to lie beneath his strong muscles and undivided attention, twist and arch up into hungry kisses and words too tender and too dirty all at once. No one fantasizes about hearing this sort of _I love you_ , and coming undone by their brother’s hands and mouth and...

No one.

-Fin-


End file.
